


A Hellbent's Tale

by HueyNomure



Category: Magic: The Gathering (Card Game)
Genre: Community: Magic: Expanded Multiverse, Gen, Original Character(s), Rogue-like continent, no canon characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:34:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21999823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HueyNomure/pseuds/HueyNomure
Summary: The Wastelands host many wonders and many perils. Hellbent brave it to win fame and fortune, and for the thrill of it. Gather around the fire, to hear a story from one of them.





	A Hellbent's Tale

Fayn was signaling for another round, starting to fear the barkeeper was cutting her off, when a froth-topped tankard appeared before her. Contemplating the small miracle with drunken wonder, she barely noticed the tall uniformed vedalken taking a seat across the table, a wine glass in her hand.

“Cheers, new friend of mine,” Fayn greeted the blue-skinned woman, curiosity peering through the heavy curtains of intoxication. The vedalken looked like a renowned officer of some sort, which clashed with her presence in a Hellbent bar. When higher-ups from the Clockwork Archipelago visited frontier cities, they usually kept themselves to the universities and the merchant’s districts. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I was told you had some interesting stories to share,” the vedalken replied evenly.

Fayn shrugged, her face hidden by the raised tankard. “If you want interesting stories, you should butter up Akiat, the dog-ears behind me.” She pointed to a rugged middle-aged houndfolk currently sharing a roaring laughter with two significantly younger women.

“I can make do with truth,” the vedalken pointed out, drumming her fingers on her crossed arms.

“I like you already,” Fayn said with what could pass for a knowing smile in a bad lighting. “I’m not a lapper.”

The vedalken just raised an eyebrow to the word.

“Hellbent jargon,” Fayn explained, and took another long swig from the tankard. “Lapper means braggart. Not that Akiat is a liar,” she added loyally. “He’s just better at… embellishing stories.”

The vedalken took a sip of her wine and gestured for Fayn to go on.

“A dour one, are ya?” Fayn chuckled. “Well, I’ve got just the story for you. Ever heard of the Silent Plain?”

“Just as a saying.” The vedalken tilted her head. “Like 'pass through the Silent Plain to cross the street'.”

“Ah, yes, the swimmers like to throw around the name.” Fayn shook her head, then noticed the vedalken’s raised eyebrow. “Swimmers are the Hellbent that shy from “diving” in the deep Wastelands.” She belched. “A lot of newbies and cravens, if you ask me, but I guess it takes all sorts. How much do you know of the Wastelands?”

“Did I misspoke?” The vedalken commented with a wry smirk. “I came for a story, not for drunken questioning.”

“Hey, I have to know if I have to explain the...” Fayn massaged her temples for a moment, then downed the rest of the tankard. “The basics. Do you want me to begin with 'when boys or girls are really bold and curious, they brand their face to become Hellbent and brave the Lands'?” Fayn sneered, pointing at the half-skull tattooed on the left side of her face.

“No need to mock me,” the vedalken replied in a clipped tone. “From what I hear, the Wastelands are a dangerous place crowded all kinds of monsters and buried treasure.”

Fayn nodded, but remained silent.

The vedalken raised an eyebrow.

Fayn pointed at the empty tankard.

“You’re testing my patience.”

“I’m more interested in testing your coin,” Fayn replied with a wide grin.

The vedalken stared at the human for a long moment, then took another sip of wine and raised to her feet.

“I appreciate your magnanimity, my good woman,” Fayn said as she got her next round, noticing the subtle downward twitch of the vedalken’s mouth at the moniker. “The Silent Plain… the shallow Lands are mildly dangerous, with acid rains and the occasional ancient and malfunctioning golem perceiving all life forms as fires to be extinguished. You may make a living out of it, but there’s little thrill in it.”

“I’m guessing 'swimmers' would describe it differently,” the vedalken said, gesturing at Fayn with the half-full glass in her hand.

“Sure, they think we’re all suicidal thrill-seekers,” Fayn shrugged and took a swig of beer. “The deep Lands is where the real treasure is. Intact pre-War libraries, rains of mana crystals with bizarre properties, ruined land-shattering weapons… of course, dangers get worse. In the shallows the gales – them’s Chaos Gales, storms of wild magic – might just rearrange the scenery around you and drop an elemental on your head, in the depths things get really bad. Imagine you’re powering through a hail of magical and very sharp obsidian shards, trying not to trip with your new extra leg and thinking on how to adapt to your blood turning so acid your clothes are corroding around your wounds...”

The vedalken sighed. “Are you sure you’re not a “lapper”?”

“Hey!” Fayn scoffed with mock indignation. “I tried each of those though, I admit, not at the same time.” Fayn took another long swig and chuckled. “I still have the leg under spirits somewhere, if you need proof. I used to play pranks on my little cousins with it. Fun times.”

“Fascinating.” The vedalken made a dismissive gesture with her full hand, making the wine in her glass swirl. “Let’s suppose I believe you.”

“Good girl.” Fayn tried not to smile at the vedalken’s annoyance, then downed the rest of the tankard and put it aside. She leaned forward, putting her elbows on the table and interlocking her fingers. “So, three-legged and acid-blooded, you’re stumbling through what feels like a rain of black knives. You have to find shelter, because all your carefully chosen protections will hardly last five more minutes, but all you see through the hood of your reinforced jacket is a shimmering black mist. You’re just trying to put a foot after the other, hoping against all odds that the next step will reveal some ledge or cave you can hide under, muttering some stupid nursery rhyme so the word “death” doesn’t come into your mind, then...”

The vedalken absently put her glass back on the table.

Fayn opened her arms wide and looked upwards, as if reliving a memory. “...nothing. A single step, and you suddenly hear nothing. Your feet sink into soft sand. The deadly rain of knives stops. The mist disappears. You’re in a perfect circle, a dozen mile wide, where nothing moves except you.”

“The Silent Plain.”

Fayn blinked groggily, as if waking up from a dream. “Yes. You drop to your knees, and thank whatever deity you believe in. Then you strip to take stock of your wounds and drink and eat and rest, because you may be awestruck but you’re not a complete idiot,” Fayn grinned wrily, “but when the practical stuff is over, you set to explore this weird oasis of almost complete stillness.”

“Almost?”

“Let me get to it,” Fayn said, wagging a finger in playful reproach. “The soft, multicolored sand is a balm for your sore feet, and it takes a few moments for you to get used to the kaleidoscopic light. The only things you can find are titanic toppled columns and corpses. Some you guess succumbed to their wounds, others you get the feeling they ended themselves, either certain of their imminent death or determined to rest forever in the true hall of Hellbent fame.”

Fayn checked her empty tankard for some beer that might have miraculously escaped her thirst, but had no luck. The vedalken emptied her glass and made to stand up, but the human gestured her to remain seated.

“The Silent Plain is truly the apex of what a Hellbent can reach,” Fayn continued somberly. “In the exact center between Jhat and Latsho, the farthest you can get from civilization without boarding a ship. And in there, all our greatest names are remembered. Near the center of the Plain, a column still stands, severed by the cleanest cut I’ve ever seen. There, each Hellbent writes their name, or adds a notch if their name is already there.” Fayn crossed her arms, averting her gaze. “In the nearby toppled columns, those who saw their companions die on the way make sure their effort will be remembered forever.” Fayn rubbed her eyes. “There are lying Hellbent who claim to have been there, but nobody can get it past who really made it. There are not that many names there, and every Hellbent who gets there make sure to commit them to memory. I knew a guy who tattooed the list on his back.” She cleared her throat, took a deep breath, and a defiant smile drifted back on her face. “But the really interesting part of this story, is that I met others who reached the Plain. And not all of our descriptions of it are the same.”

“I’m guessing half of you are concussed by the time you get there.”

“Sure, memory is a frail thing and pain doesn’t help it,” Fayn conceded, “but everyone I talked to remember all I’ve said until now quite well. The weird thing is the… well, let’s call it 'sky'. Did you see yesterday’s dawn, which turned the sky purple and green on the Lands’ side? Things get wilder the deeper you go. Still, that’s nothing compared to the Silent Plain. Apart from the occasional explosion and a few mysterious figures flying in the distance, the Plain’s sky is pure chaos. So chaotic, in fact, that after a while people watching it start perceiving sounds that don’t pass through their ears, or feel weird flavors in the back of their mouths. It’s… hypnotic, but also somehow feels hostile or inviting to some. And even more interesting...”

The vedalken straightened up even more, a subtle but definite shift.

“...old accounts say that once the sky was even wilder, with tongues of sky reaching down to brush the ground, and the figures flying through it left traces in the sky, like shooting stars, and warped the roiling chaos in their passage in massive waves. An old Hellbent I knew even claimed to have been there when the change happened, and the sky became tamer.” Fayn eyed the vedalken naughtily. “Do you want to know how many years ago that was, perhaps?”

“It’s your story, you get to decide what to put in it.”

Nevertheless, Fayn sensed the vedalken’s interest. “Sixty years ago, give or take a few.” She noticed the vedalken’s eyes widening for a split second. “Do you know of something important happening around that time?”

The vedalken shrugged. “Not really. Was that a rhetorical question?”

Liar, Fayn thought. “No, that’s quite the mystery for me too,” she said instead. “And… well, that’s it. For the story, I mean. If you got questions, though...”

“Do you Hellbent ever take others with you?”

Fayn fought to keep her smile innocent. “Not really. Gales are nasty customers, and Hellbent blood is more used to them. Most divers work alone, since we grow to match the ruthlessness of the Lands we explore, and when necessity makes you think of teammates as decoys or shields...”

The vedalken scoffed. “I wasn’t necessarily talking about divers.”

“Sure,” Fayn replied with a smirk. “What about another pint as thanks for the truthful storyteller?”

The vedalken brought her another drink, but didn’t sat down. “It was a rather interesting story. Thank you, Fayn,” and walked away without another word.

“Hey, I didn’t get your name,” Fayn shouted behind the vedalken, to no avail. The Hellbent contented herself by ogling her shapely ass as she left: judging by the blue-skinned woman’s stance and the weapons she kept close at hand, following her might cause a number of unpleasant misunderstandings.

After a few minutes staring at the closed door, Fayn returned her attention to her drink. “Three rounds and a new mystery in exchange for an old story,” she muttered to herself when she got to the bottom of the tankard. She laboriously got to her feet. “I've had worse nights.”


End file.
